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Letting go of hatred

You might think I’m talking about current events, but I’m not. My current writing problem is that the sight of my manuscript makes me want to barf. But the best way to get rid of it is to finish it. I have to finish it sometime so it might as well be August.

Or I could kill myself. Whatever. (Note: Indy Clause is not in the least bit suicidal. She is reminded of a friend of Anne Lamott’s who told her he could type or die. Yes.)

What can I possibly do to get back into the manuscript? I thought about going to the local coffeeshop, but people would probably annoy me. I thought about going back to bed, but that wouldn’t get me back into the MS. I thought about writing a blog post, and I deleted five tries before I finished one.

I just did it. And now that I’m an hour into my workday, I can tell you that one of the best editing tricks I have for late-stage drafts is to figure out what I hate. I don’t hate the whole MS, I just hate the mealy-mouthed beginning of a particular chapter. I hate the chapterlet that I can’t get to say what I mean it to say even though it seems important. I hate the order of chapter four.

My friends, these are all things I can fix. And now I’m going to ignore bigger picture pressures (Cougar arriving tomorrow, dog squabbles, impending family reunion, no time, no time, no time). Today I’m going in.

And if you want me to write something that isn’t a whine about writing, please send me any editorial questions you have.

I admire your stick-to-it-ive-ness. I’ve been tearing my hair out this week after two tries at anything. (I have no patience these days.) Yesterday I started a poem on the bus, because everything I wanted to say was so emotional. It wasn’t good, but I felt a little less whiny afterward. Today I better just knit.